


Candy Hearts

by Pigzxo



Series: Rovinsky Holidays [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rehabilitation, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: After weeks of avoiding it, Ronan finally goes to visit Kavinsky in rehab.





	

Ronan groaned as a knock sounded on the door of his apartment. He shot back the rest of his beer – not much, really just the dregs at the bottom of the bottle – and sunk deeper into the couch. His eyes were barely open but it wouldn’t have mattered if they were. The room was dark, the blinds down, lights off, even though it was two o’clock in the afternoon. A cold February breeze whistled through the room.

            The knock came again. And again. And again. Until Ronan had no choice but to conclude that the person at the door was unstable and shouldn’t be let into his apartment under any circumstances. Then the key turned in the lock.

            Gansey. Of course. With all his polite knocking and his not wanting to use his key and his sounds of disgust as soon as he entered. He flicked on the lights. “It smells like a brewery in here, Ronan.” He walked right by and went to open the blinds. “And unless you’re developing photographs, I don’t get why it’s so dark.”

            “Photos are digital now, Dick.”

            Gansey turned to him, hands on his hips, looking every inch the mama hen that he was. Ronan thought that if he squinted just right Gansey might become a giant ready to squish him. No luck. Gansey swiped the empty bottle away from him.

            “Great, man,” Ronan slurred. “Get me another.”

            “No. Look, I get that you’re doing your absolute best to wind up in the room next to Kavinsky’s, but this is getting out of hand.”

            “Court ordered rehab? Pass.”

            “Ronan.” Gansey sighed as he sat down beside Ronan on the couch. He looked straight ahead at the TV like he was afraid to meet his friend’s eyes. And maybe he was. Ronan knew as well as anyone else that the last month and a half he’d been with Kavinsky and then without Kavinsky he’d become a bit of a different person. Gansey inhaled as if steeling himself for something big and then said, “You can’t do this to yourself. You’re better than this.”

            “Better than what?”

            “Drinking yourself to death in a shitty apartment over a guy who was _arrested_ for drunk and disorderly.”

            “He’s not in jail.”

            “Luckily.” Gansey shook his head. “I can’t believe Declan gave you money for his lawyer but not for rent.”

            Ronan shrugged. “He likes to show off.”

            Gansey stayed silent for a few moments more before he turned to face Ronan on the couch. Ronan turned his head to look at his friend’s hazel eyes. They swirled in the afternoon light, more green now than they were normally. Gansey said, “I love you and I care about you and I hate seeing you like this.”

            “Thanks.”

            “Tell me how to fix this and I’ll do it.”

            Ronan nearly laughed, shook his head. “You won’t.”

            “I will.”

            Ronan searched his friend’s eyes for the lie but there was none. Gansey honestly believed he could fix any problem Ronan threw his way. Everything to Gansey was a matter of money, of affection, of time, hard work, and dedication. Ronan sighed. “Fine. You wanna fix this? Take me to see him.”

            “Kavinsky?”

            “Yeah.”

            Gansey looked away. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

            “I know you hate the guy. I even know you have valid reasons for hating him. But I haven’t seen him for three weeks and it’s driving me up the fucking wall,” Ronan said. “You don’t know him like I do. Before me, he would’ve chosen jail over rehab any day. He’s trying.”

            “I thought you’d get over bad boys eventually.”

            Ronan smiled, half of his face curling upwards. “What’s that stupid saying? Nothing more irresistible than a bad boy who’s a good man?”

            “Joseph Kavinsky is not a good man.”

            “You don’t know him, Gansey. You never tried.”

            Gansey stared at Ronan for a long moment and then nodded. “You’re right. I never tried.” He got up off the couch with a sigh and added, “Get cleaned up. I’ll come back with the car in an hour and we’ll go see him.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah. Drink some coffee though. I don’t think they let drunk guys visit recovering addicts.”

            Ronan laughed, a real bright and non-bitter laugh, as Gansey headed for the door. Once the door shut, he quieted down and stumbled off of the couch. And he remembered, instantly, why he didn’t like letting light into the apartment.

            With Kavinsky gone, every inch of the place screamed his name. From the gouge marks in the living room wall to the broken tiles on the kitchen floor, his name could’ve been written in sharpie throughout the apartment. Ronan touched his fingers to the scratches in the paint, remembered Kavinsky high off his horse, screaming, halfway out of a nightmare and determined to dig his other half out too. He couldn’t breathe thinking about it, picturing that night, the first that had ever been that bad.

            Since they’d started dating or whatever, Kavinsky had started to come home high instead of spending the night on the streets like usual. And Ronan had quickly gotten a full view of exactly what went on in his head. It scared him. He’d known about the suicidal tendencies, about the drugs, the alcohol, even the nightmares, but he’d never seen them all rolled into one ball of self-loathing before. He almost wished that Kavinsky had kept it to himself, kept treating Ronan like a stranger, except now a stranger that he occasionally fucked. He’d wished and wished and wished that it would stop.

            And then it had.

            The day he’d gotten a phone call at three in the morning and was told Kavinsky was in the hospital. Was told they weren’t sure whether or not he’d wake up. Was told to come to the hospital to say his goodbyes, if nothing else.

            And Ronan remembered sitting in that hospital room for hours, his hands wrapped around Kavinsky’s, whispering prayers to a God Kavinsky didn’t even believe in. He remembered Gansey getting him coffee and the cops asking stupid questions and Blue’s family reading tarot cards on Kavinsky’s chest. He remembered flashes and panics and beeps and crash carts and the moment when Kavinsky opened his eyes and Ronan was convinced he was finally dead. But then his black eyes had sparked, he’d smirked, and choked out, “Were you worried, baby girl?”

            Ronan didn’t care that Kavinsky was mocking him, that everyone had heard, that at least fifteen people were in the room. He’d grabbed his face and kissed him so hard he’d tasted blood and the doctors had pulled him off, telling him he was disturbing the lines and probably hurting him. But Kavinsky had laughed, protested, told them to let him go.

            Ronan had walked out.

            He’d left the hospital barely able to breathe.

            He hadn’t gone to the trial or the sentencing or even seen Kavinsky since.

            Ronan swallowed hard and stepped back from the scratches on the wall. It was time. He stepped into the shower, washed the smell of sweat and beer from his body. When he brushed a hand over his head, he was surprised to find a thin layer of hair dusting his skull. He blasted cold water to wake him up, to sober up.

            Dressed in jeans and an old t-shirt, Ronan took Gansey’s advice and made himself a cup of coffee. He was still sitting on the counter right where Kavinsky had first kissed him when Gansey knocked on the door again. “Come in,” Ronan shouted.

            Gansey stepped in and smiled. “You look better already.”

            Without a word, Ronan jumped down from the counter and placed his mug in the sink.

            “You sure about this?” Gansey said. “Because you’re already looking—”

            “It’s an act for the front desk,” Ronan snapped, not wanting to hear anything about how he could get his life back on track without Kavinsky. Not even wanting to hear a word about him on Gansey’s lips. He brushed past his friend. “It’s a long drive.”

            “Blue’s in the car.”

            “Great.”

            Ronan froze as soon as he stepped into the hall. He hadn’t been out of his apartment since coming home from the hospital – the joy of living in a city where they delivered _everything_ – and he felt like he could see himself coming home. He had dragged his feet the whole way. He’d collapsed three feet from the door. His neighbour had nearly called an ambulance. He’d literally crawled into his apartment.

            “Ronan?” Gansey said. Tentatively, he touched his shoulder. “You okay?”

            Ronan cleared his throat, shook his head. “Yeah, let’s go.”

            They got down to the car and Ronan claimed the whole of the backseat. He closed his eyes almost immediately, half as an attempt to sleep and half to prevent Blue from trying to talk to him about his feelings. She’d tried a lot when Kavinsky had first gone away. She’d come over with soup, with bad movies, with nothing but her ears and a promise to listen. And Ronan had stayed silent every time, not uttering a word to her.

            Two hours passed with Ronan pretending to be asleep as Gansey and Blue played car games, whispered about him, and sang along to the radio. After a while, he started to worry that they weren’t taking him to see Kavinsky at all. Maybe they’d got him into a mental hospital out of town. Maybe they were going to commit him.

            But when the car pulled to a stop, it was outside of Harmony Rehabilitation Centre. The cartoon sun crowning over a rainbow logo almost made Ronan laugh. He wondered how long Kavinsky had spent telling the nurses that the symbol was gay, wondered how many of them had told him to stop using homophobic language just to have him laugh in their faces.

            “Ready?” Gansey said.

            Ronan nodded but he couldn’t seem to make himself move from the back seat. He sat staring at the sign, staring at the doors, staring at nothing.

            “Worried?” Blue said.

            Ronan glanced towards her, nodded.

            “He’s going to be better. Not all the way better, but better.”

            “He’s going to be hoarding his medication and lying to the shrinks,” Ronan said. “In fact, I’ll bet you twenty bucks he has booze hidden somewhere in his room and a dealer three blocks away.”

            “They run tests,” Gansey said.

            Ronan laughed. “K’s been an addict since seventh grade.” He undid his seatbelt and opened the door. “If you think he can’t pass a drug test blind, you’re all kinds of wrong.”

            “You want us to come?” Blue yelled as Ronan slipped out of the car.

            He raised his hand to wave goodbye and walked towards the doors. The smile faded from his face as he moved, his heart beating harder in his chest. When he reached the entrance, he hesitated, almost chickened out. He wanted Blue and Gansey to be right. He wanted Kavinsky to be better. But he knew better than to wish for things he couldn’t have.

            He smiled at the lady at the front desk and said, “Excuse me. I’m here to visit Joseph Kavinsky.”

            “You’re cutting it a little close. Visiting hours end in fifty minutes.” She glanced up and her expression softened. Ronan wanted to hit her. He didn’t want strangers to feel sympathy for him. She said, “I’m sure that’s plenty of time though, right? I just need your name and your relationship to the patient and then we’ll give him a call and let him know you’re here.”

            “What?”

            “Your name and relationship to the patient.”

            “I meant the last part.”           

            “Here at Harmony, we believe it’s important to allow the patients to see only who they want to. Will that be a problem?”

            Ronan shook his head even though he wasn’t really sure. He felt like his heart was trying to escape his chest, like his hands were sweating. “I’m Ronan Lynch,” he said. “I’m his roommate.”

            The woman nodded, typed the info into her computer, and then picked up the phone. Ronan waited while she relayed the information and was subsequently put on hold. She smiled up at him while the music played. After a moment, she said, “Okay, thanks,” and hung up.

            “Can I see him?” Ronan said.

            “A nurse will be right out to bring you back.”

            Ronan thought those words would calm him down but they didn’t. He still felt like he was about to explode or tear himself in two. Maybe Gansey had been right. Maybe he didn’t need to see Kavinsky. Maybe Kavinsky was bad for him. He considered turning right around and running to the car, but Kavinsky would never let him forget it if he chickened out. Even if Ronan did everything in his power to make sure he’d never see him again, Kavinsky would find a way to mock him for it. Oddly, the thought calmed him.

            A nurse came down the hall and, before he knew it, Ronan had moved to meet her. She smiled too, shook his hand, and led him into the back. She listed off the visitation rules in a calm monotone and finished right before they reached a closed door with the number 13 on it. Ronan tried hard to hide his smile as she knocked.

            “Joe,” she said and Ronan couldn’t help but laugh, “Joe, your roommate’s here to see you.”

            “I’m aware.” Kavinsky’s bored drawl sent a shiver down Ronan’s spine. Somehow it was simultaneously deader and more alive than it had been before. “Send him in.”

            “Remember the rules,” the nurse said. “He’ll try to trick you.”

            Ronan nodded, waited until she disappeared to let his smile slip onto his lips. He opened the door and stepped into the small room. It was little more than a glorified dorm room – a little bigger, less hiding places, and better furniture though. The walls were bare, the light above too bright.

            Kavinsky laid shirtless, jeans unbuttoned and unzipped to reveal stained white boxers, on the bed. His eyes were closed, hands behind his head. “I assume you’re here to blow me,” he said.

            Ronan leaned back against the door to shut it. “Is that all I’m good for?”

            “You’re shit at visiting me, talking to me, and all around being supportive.” Kavinsky’s voice had a bite to it that Ronan was unused to. Real anger was rare for Kavinsky. He’d been beaten down into an emotionless pulp long before Ronan had ever met him. Without drugs, he was practically a zombie.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Bullshit.”

            Ronan stepped into the room and sat down at the end of the bed. “I came to see you, didn’t I?”

            “This your Valentine’s Day present?”

            Ronan blinked. He hadn’t even realized it was the fourteenth. “If it is?”

            “Shit. Like most things you do.”

            “I know you’re mad but—”

            “Mad?” Kavinsky popped up to a sitting position in a blink. His eyes were wide and dark and hollow and took Ronan’s breath away. “No, Ronan, you see, mad was when you didn’t come visit me in my jail cell. Mad was when you weren’t at the trial. Mad was when I chose fucking rehab over jail because I thought maybe, just maybe, you’d see that as a sign that I was _trying_. Mad was three fucking weeks ago, Lynch.”

            Ronan bit his tongue hard, tried to meet Kavinsky’s eyes without an inch of emotion. But he didn’t have the training the other man did. He didn’t have the years of experience with abusive parents, douche bag friends, and enough drug experience to burn out every nerve in his body. Ronan knew Kavinsky saw him shake, saw him blink back tears.

            “I’m sorry,” Ronan said as steady as he could manage. “I don’t have an explanation.”

            “You don’t have an explanation I’ll like.”

            “K—”

            Kavinsky leaned forward so that their faces were just inches apart. “Tell me the truth.”

            “I’m having panic attacks. Flashbacks. I’ve been drinking myself half to death to stop thinking about you and it’s not fucking working,” Ronan said. He hoped the venom in his voice hurt, he hoped it stung. “You wanna know why I didn’t visit you? Because it hurt too much. Because I didn’t want to see you behind bars. I spent too long in that fucking hospital thinking you were never going to wake up to sit around watching you rot afterwards.”

            Kavinsky quirked an eyebrow. “Gay.”

            “Fuck off.”

            Before Ronan could pull away, Kavinsky grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss that was all teeth and pain. Ronan’s lip split open a few minutes in. He could taste metal on his tongue, feel scars on the insides of Kavinsky’s cheeks.

            Kavinsky pulled away with no warning, just popped their lips apart. “You should get help if you’re that fucked up over me. I know you’re broke but I’m sure if you told your brother you wanna go to therapy he’d shell out millions.”

            Ronan snorted. “You’re a jackass.”

            “I am.”

            “Do you forgive me?”

            “I’ve been in rehab for two weeks dead sober hoping you’ll forgive me.”

            Ronan knew better than to smile. “I do.”

            “Loser.”

            Ronan stole another kiss, quick, and let go before Kavinsky could retaliate. “I missed you.”

            “Gay. Again.”

            “Shut up.” Ronan knocked their foreheads together and breathed. He breathed in the scent of Kavinsky, something that was altogether foreign without alcohol covering it. He let his hand slide down Kavinsky’s neck, across his collarbone, and then down his chest. Kavinsky’s eyes sparked, focused. Ronan kissed him again.

            “I think I’m getting drunk off your breath,” Kavinsky said as Ronan pushed him back onto the pillows. “Don’t get me wrong, I like it, but if I fail my next piss test because you downed half a bottle of vodka before deciding to have your way with me—”

            “Have my way with you?” Ronan smiled against the skin of Kavinsky’s shoulder. He already had his hands in the other man’s pants but carefully avoided touching anything sensitive. “When have you ever let me have my way with you?”

            Kavinsky’s smile quirked. “I’m tired. It’s all the medication I’m on.”

            “So I’ll have to do all the work?”

            “Something like that.”

            Ronan hummed. “Glad to know nothing’s changed.”

            Kavinsky whacked him across the head even as he cackled. Ronan moved his kisses down his body, swirled his tongue over a nipple as he traced lines down the inside of Kavinsky’s thighs.

            “Hurry up,” Kavinsky drawled, even his impatience slow and annoyed. “You know I don’t like foreplay.”

            “You just miss my dick.”

            “Miss your mouth more.”

            Ronan, almost at the waistband of Kavinsky’s boxers, stopped to look up with a shit-eating grin. “Did you just admit to missing part of me?”

            “This is why I prefer you with a dick in your mouth.”

            Ronan laughed and buried his face in Kavinsky’s stomach, his entire body shaking. Kavinsky’s hand came down on the back of his head, not forcing him lower, just a soft caress through his hair. Ronan pressed soft kisses into his belly as he calmed, the laughter leaving his body.

            “I really missed you,” Ronan whispered, so soft he hoped Kavinsky hadn’t heard.

            And for a moment, he was sure he hadn’t, because nothing changed. Kavinsky’s hand still carded through his hair, the rise and fall of his belly gentle under Ronan’s head. But then he said, “I missed you too. More than I could stand.”

            “K.”

            “I don’t let people in, Ronan.” Kavinsky’s eyes were on the ceiling, his fingers suddenly still. “I don’t trust them. And I really fucking hate you for making me break my rules and care about you just to ditch me the second things got hard.”

            Ronan felt the air go from his lungs. The words _I’m sorry_ hung on his lips but he knew saying so was more likely to get him beaten to a pulp than forgiven. He searched for the right reply but he didn’t know Kavinsky well enough.

            “I mean it,” Kavinsky bit out. “I hate you.”

            “It’s all right,” Ronan whispered. “It’s all right. I love you. I love you.”

            Ronan felt Kavinsky’s whole body still under him. His fingers pressed into his skull, so hard it hurt, but Ronan didn’t dare complain. Time froze. Neither of them breathed. Then, “Take it back.”

            “No.”

            “Take it the fuck back, Ronan.”

            Ronan shook his head and finally moved. He shifted up on the bed to look Kavinsky in the eyes and saw so much pain in their blackness that his heart stopped. A tear was caught in Kavinsky’s eyelashes but Ronan knew if he so much as acknowledged it he was a dead man. Here he was, not walking on eggshells but glass, his feet already bleeding but still with a chance to get out alive.

            Ronan settled his nose against Kavinsky’s, closed his eyes so they weren’t looking at each other. Every word brushed their lips together. “I love you. I know no one who’s ever said that to you before meant it. I know you’ve never heard those words without learning to associate them with pain. And I know you mean it when you say you hate me. You should hate me. Because I should have been so much more fucking careful with you. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I love you. And I know I’m no exception to connecting those words with pain but I want to be. I really, really want to be.”

            “Fuck, Ronan.” Kavinsky’s breath was hot on his face. “That was so gay.”

            Ronan laughed even as tears dripped from his eyes. He placed sloppy, gentle kisses against Kavinsky’s mouth, kept it up even though he didn’t respond for a solid minute.

            Then a knock came at the door. “I’m sorry but visiting hours are over.”

            “Fuck off,” Kavinsky shouted.

            “You know that’s not an acceptable response, Joe.”

            “Joe,” Ronan mimicked.

            Kavinsky slapped him on the chest.

            The door wobbled.

            Kavinsky groaned. “You didn’t lock it.”

            “Sorry.” Ronan stole one last kiss and jumped off the bed. He looked almost acceptable by the time the nurse got the door open even if Kavinsky looked like a total fucking mess with his lips blown red and half a hard-on in his unbuttoned jeans. Ronan smiled at the nurse, innocent as he could, and followed her out of the room with only one glance back to catch Kavinsky’s glare.

            Ronan left Harmony with a weight settling in his chest but he didn’t turn back to look at the building. He slipped into the backseat of the car and Gansey and Blue abruptly stopped talking. Gansey said, “How’d it go?”

            Ronan shrugged.

            “Ready to go home?” Blue said.

            “No.” Ronan surprised himself with the word but he went on, “Drop me at a hotel, actually. I think I’m going to stick around.”

            Gansey and Blue exchanged a glance but didn’t comment. The Pig’s engine roared and Ronan settled back into the seat, eyes already closed.


End file.
